"To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Then she looked up at Brendon. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. "No," replied Jonathan, "I'll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition. ” “It’s scandalous, but I suppose it is. ‘That’s right.
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